


Come to Me, Bend to Me

by LydianNode



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Absolute fluff, Frian, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, jazz tour 1978, maycury, the end of a slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 12:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21457903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydianNode/pseuds/LydianNode
Summary: The day before the Jazz tour starts, Brian comes to a startling realisation.That's been the problem all rehearsal long. Freddie usually sings from centre stage or bounds around like a madman. He makes stops now and then to lean momentarily against John or Brian, or to meet Roger's eyes and share a quick chuckle. But today, for whatever reason, he is all but glued to Brian. At his hip, at his shoulder. At his feet."But their beauty and their style went kinda smooth after a while." Freddie is down on his knees now, mouth almost touching Red Special's lower bout. "Take me to them dirty ladies every time."Brian forgets to come in on the chorus.
Relationships: Brian May/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 18
Kudos: 103





	Come to Me, Bend to Me

27 October, 1978  
Dallas, Texas Convention Center

Their world tour starts tomorrow on this very stage, and Brian is making a dog's breakfast out of their attempts to rehearse.

Brian feels the sixpence slip out of his sweaty fingers, grimacing as it bounces away on the floor of the stage. He's never made this many mistakes in a single rehearsal. He groans his apology for the blown riff and leans down to retrieve the strayed coin.

"Shit," he mutters as he looks over his shoulder. He's expecting to see a thundercloud obscuring John's face, but instead there's a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. Behind him, Roger is snickering and holding up five fingers.

What does that mean? Brian's made more than five mistakes, if Roger's keeping count. Closer to twenty at this point.

Actually, Brian has been counting. _Twenty-six._ Thank God they sent all the stagehands and hangers-on away so the four of them could practice in privacy. _Queen's May Losing His Grip, _ the tabloids would bray if someone sold their story of Brian's many mishaps.

He keeps a firm grip, thank you very much, on his sixpence and steps back to where he'd been standing when this latest mess happened. Freddie is waiting nearby with a sly grin on his face. "Ready now, Bri?"

"From the top, or—?"

"Oh, let's pick up right where we left off," purrs Freddie. He takes his place at Brian's side. No, not just at his side but rather on it. Brian has to hunch his shoulders a little to reach his strings.

The band glides into the verse as smoothly as an expert diver cleaving the water without a splash. "I've been singing with my band, 'cross the wire, 'cross the land." Freddie's voice resonates across the room as he sidles up to Brian's hip.

That's been the problem all rehearsal long. Freddie usually sings from centre stage or bounds around like a madman. He makes stops now and then to lean momentarily against John or Brian, or to meet Roger's eyes and share a quick chuckle. But today, for whatever reason, he is all but glued to Brian. At his hip, at his shoulder. At his feet.  
  
"But their beauty and their style went kinda smooth after a while." Freddie is down on his knees now, mouth almost touching Red Special's lower bout. "Take me to them dirty ladies every time."

Brian forgets to come in on the chorus. The first notes sound thin without his voice on the bottom of the harmony. _Twenty-seven_. Freddie's still singing, somehow, from his bent-back pose at Brian's feet. Brian chances a downward look only to see Freddie gazing back up at him with innocence in his eyes and sin on his lips.

There's no way he can keep going.

"Fuck, sorry," he mutters as he makes yet another loud, scratchy mistake. He swings away from Freddie and pretends to tune. John is now holding ten fingers up at Roger, who is trying to disguise his giggles with random hits on his ride cymbals.

Freddie stretches along the floor, leaning on his elbows and watching as Brian goes to the trouble of re-tuning a guitar that has absolutely nothing wrong with it. He doesn't look annoyed or amused as his wide-eyed gaze stays on Brian's fingers. If anything, Brian thinks as he considers reaching for a backup guitar, it looks as if Freddie is flirting with him.

This time Brian loses his grip on the guitar altogether. Only the strap keeps his beloved instrument from crashing to the floor. A weird tingling in his face lets him know that he's blushing. He doesn't dare to look at Freddie lest his overactive imagination betray him any further.

_Pull yourself together._

"Sorry," he says for what feels like the millionth time this afternoon. He knows it's only twenty-eight screwups—_ONLY?_—but the weight of the world seems to be pushing down in the spot just between his shoulder blades as he watches Roger flash ten fingers and then another five at John.

_Remember to ask them later what that's about._

Past the blood rushing in his ears he hears Roger count them back in. "For fuck's SAKE, Brian, let's go again - one, two, three, four!"

The deep slide of John's bass yanks Brian back into the moment. "Oh, you're gonna take me home tonight," he sings, letting Freddie's and Roger's voices soar above his. The words, the harmony lines, the guitar part all feel foreign even though this is his song.

"Please," chimes Freddie, eyelashes fluttering. He's doing that thing with the microphone, thumb twisting over the tip as if it were the tip of—

_NO._

"Oh, down beside that red firelight." Brian knows that his face is as red as that firelight, as red as the "pizza oven" lights above him, as red as the varnish on the guitar that he suddenly can't remember how to play.

Freddie's free hand is roaming up Brian's thigh.

Brian regrets his insistence on having the whole lighting rig up and running for their rehearsal. He feels the hair at his nape starting to stick to his skin and his jumper is decidedly damp at the armpits. There's a musky scent in the air that he prays is coming from Freddie's leather outfit and not from his own body.

"Aaaaare you gonna let it all hang out?" Freddie's palm is warm as it unexpectedly cups the meat of Brian's arse. "Fat-bottomed girls, you make the rockin' world go 'round."

This time it's Roger who brings the rehearsal to an abrupt halt, laughing so hard that he accidentally hits the rim of this tom and sends a drumstick flying through the air. Brian just stands there, blinded by spotlights to the point where all he can see is the perfect bead of sweat hanging along the end of one curl. He can see all the colours in the universe for just one instant.

Then all he can see is brown.

Freddie is standing right in front of him, running his hand along the neck of the Red Special in a manner that can only be called obscene. Brian's not really paying attention to that; all he can see is the warm velvet of Freddie's eyes.

Brian is a lyricist. Not quite on par with Freddie, at least not yet, but he does have a way with words. That is, he's usually good at using his vocabulary, but right now he feels empty breath escape his parted lips, leaving all his thoughts still unspoken.

Somewhere to his right, Roger has clambered down the drum riser to recover the lost drumstick. Brian feels hands— _John's_, he registers dimly—gently tugging at the strap holding his guitar. That weight is lifted from him and all that's left is the heaviness of discovery.

"Fred," he manages to gasp before he realises that his hands are free. He places them at Freddie's narrow waist. The bare skin there is hot, the muscles fluttering a bit at Brian's touch. He's doing this; he's making Freddie Mercury tremble.

"Twenty quid then, Rog?" John has mirth in his eyes as he sets Red in her case and looks over at Roger. There's something a little off in Roger's gaze, something not quite as bright as usual. Freddie must see it too, because he turns within Brian's grasp and offers Roger a sweet, shy little smile.

"It's all right. Brimi will be ever so good to me."

Still too breathless to add anything to the conversation, Brian peers into Roger's eyes and nods. _I promise._

The momentary darkness clouding Roger's expression dissipates when Freddie bends backwards and rubs his cheek against Brian's. John lopes over to Roger and drapes an arm across his shoulders. "We're going out for a few pints, then straight back to the hotel. Don't get anything on the equipment, please."

There's no displeasure in the words, no hint of disapproval of any kind. John knows, he KNOWS, but it doesn't matter. Emboldened, Brian turns his head to press his first kiss against Freddie's lips. He closes his eyes and lets Freddie wash over him: eyelashes brushing his cheek, shampoo and sweat in his nostrils, warm, lithe muscles pressed against his chest when Freddie shifts to stand on tiptoe, wrapping his arms around Brian's neck.

"Took you long enough," Freddie complains, but his eyes are twinkling.

Brian's mouth finally establishes a connection to his brain. "Since...?"

"Since, yes." Freddie nibbles on Brian's jaw. "Since. Since the day we met."

_Since the day we met._

It seems ages ago. They were young and broke, brash and effervescent, and somehow Freddie had imprinted himself on Brian's heart without him even realising.

Brian bends over so that he can recapture Freddie's mouth. He learns the shape of it, tastes the flavour of cigarettes and wine and a hint of stage sweat. He pulls back with a contented sigh that ghosts along Freddie's chin. "Now I don't even mind that Rog and John were betting on us."

"Not us, dear. You. I've been flirting for absolutely a million years and you've never noticed, so I told them I'd pull out all the stops this afternoon and you wouldn't last five minutes. They set their crafty little wagers depending on how long it took you to respond." Freddie tugs at a curl in the middle of Brian's forehead. "You held out remarkably long. I wonder how much...stamina...you have in other areas."

"Are you gonna take me home tonight? Well, to your room at the Adolphus, at any rate?" Brian punctuates his words with little kisses at Freddie's temple. The new, shorter haircut leaves all that black hair in waves that tickle Brian's nose. He wouldn't have it any other way.

"Don't forget—you're a virgin all over again."

_Oh. Fuck._

"But don't worry, my darling. I promise to be gentle with you. Except onstage. I might just keep doing this at the concerts. Would you mind terribly? I know we're shooting a video at soundcheck tomorrow...so not then...but later?"

Brian considers this, tries to imagine playing with Freddie flirting outrageously, wrapped around his ankles and gazing up at him the entire time.

He could get used to it.

In fact, Brian thinks as he clasps Freddie tightly, he's going to love it.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello there! I've had a bout with overwork, lack of self-confidence, and other fun things that have kept me from so much as opening a Word document. I'm trying to loosen the logjam with this little piece of Frian fluff.
> 
> Their first concert on the Jazz tour was at the Convention Center in Dallas, Texas on 28 October, 1978. They recorded the video for "Fat-Bottomed Girls" that day during soundcheck. Everything else is obviously a work of fiction.
> 
> The title is a song from the musical "Brigadoon" by Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe.
> 
> I have a Tumblr for writing: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lydiascribbling  
and a Tumblr for other Queen things: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lydiannode  
Come say hello!


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